


Break

by CaptainReina



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 06:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17892893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainReina/pseuds/CaptainReina
Summary: Does he want freedom or not?





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> probably ooc

The grub writhes in the air, squirming as if to free itself from the grasp on its tail. Such a foolish creature. Were it to do so, it would surely die from the fall, and then what?

Viren frowns at the disgusting thing pinched between his fingers before glancing back to the mirror before him. That complacent smile always makes his skin crawl. Aaravos tilts his head, gesturing for him to continue, and reluctantly Viren allows the creature to latch onto his ear.

"How good of you to join me," he greets the mage, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect despite the amusement in his tone. "I was sure you would not return this time."

"Perhaps if there were a less loathsome method to speak to you," Viren grumbles distastefully, "I would not be so opposed to regular conversation."

The creature on his ear squirms almost defiantly. He cringes hard, a shiver wracking his spine, and he cannot help the noise of utter disgust that escapes him. When he glances back to Aaravos, the elf looks far too pleased with himself.

"There is a price for knowledge," he replies grandly, eyes squinting with mirth.

"You think you're funny, do you?" Viren demands. He is in no mood for games, but the same cannot be said for his companion, apparently, as he cocks his head playfully. His chuckle is deep, booming in Viren's ear.

"I have had many years to refine my humor. It would be quite the disappointment if it was lackluster."

"Ha ha," Viren forces out as sarcastically as he can muster, which, of course, only serves to amuse Aaravos further. "Isn't there some far less abhorrent method to communicate with me?"

Aaravos' smile fades, eyebrows drawing together, but Viren does not notice, continuing.

"This mirror cannot only be a looking glass; why would the assassin fear it so greatly if that were the case? There is more to it, to you. If all we can do is communicate verbally, what is the purpose? No, there must be something else. Some way to travel through, like you sent this nasty little bug through."

By the time Viren has the sense to snap out of his rambling, Aaravos' smile has morphed, changed into something falsely placid, a fake plastered on to make his expression unreadable.

Apprehension gives Viren goosebumps despite his own determined poker face. He is no fool; Aaravos has proven himself worthy of caution. He waits for something, anything, knowing -  _feeling_  - that he's overstepped some kind of boundary.

"That is unwise." His eyes warn against questioning, but the mage is too arrogant for warnings.

"What is unwise?" Viren challenges. The elf shakes his head.

"Let us focus on the task at hand." His tone leaves no room for argument. "You would do well to forget this conversation."

Viren refuses to forget.

.

"Do you ever get lonely?"

It's said out of curiosity. Viren has wondered since almost the moment he met Aaravos, ever since the elf hinted at many long years - perhaps even centuries - spent alone in a place he does not know, doomed to wait for someone on the other side of his mirror to notice him and request his aid.

Of course the elf teases Viren for his reclusive nature, but what about someone with no choice? Someone who has not seen another, not spoken with another, not touched another?

Aaravos does not respond as expected. His smug smile falters. Golden irises dull, covered by thick lashes as he casts his eyes downward.

"I . . . "

His voice booms out, deep and husky as ever despite his meek expression. He pauses, unsure, and glances back up to the mirror, to the man looking back at him. The vulnerability is . . . shocking, to say the least.

On the other side of the glass, his companion leans forward in his seat. He reaches forward; his cool fingers brush the cool surface of the mirror, and both sets of eyes follow the motion like a hawk.

He lays his palm flat against the glass. The elf copies the motion, his starry, translucent skin matching the position but contrasting starkly against the white skin of the other man.

" . . . yes."

It comes in a whisper, and the raw emotion in his voice sends a chill down Viren's spine. Aaravos squeezes his eyes shut. Something sparkly trails down his cheek - a tear? It's gone before the human can observe it properly.

"But that is irrelevant." He removes his hand quickly from the glass. Viren does not copy him. "I am irrelevant. I live to serve."

"Aaravos - "

"Tell me what you would have of me." His face is set again, smile serene, but Viren can see the sadness in his eyes. "I can grant you knowledge and power. That is all that matters."

.

The door slams shut so hard the mirror vibrates with the force of it. A stack of books topples over, which only serves to further agitate him. With a frustrated growl, he kicks the now pile, sending them scattering across the cell floor.

Aaravos seems to notice the commotion on the other side of the mirror, setting aside his book and tilting his head curiously. Viren, breathing hard, matches his gaze, and Aaravos smiles, tapping his long ear.

With a harsh exhale Viren yanks a bottle from his coat and pulls the worm from inside, dropping it onto his ear. He's too angry to shudder when it makes itself comfortable.

"My, my," that ethereal voice chuckles. "What has you so worked up?"

It's such a low, soothing bass that Viren can feel his muscles relaxing - only slightly, but relaxing all the same.  _Does he lace his words with magic?_  Viren wonders. It should be a larger concern. The power of suggestion is no idle threat.

Viren, however, has other things to worry about. He clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting hard to control his tone. "They do not listen," he growls. "I try to convince them, but they look down on me, ridicule me for worrying, deem me paranoid and dangerous!"

The way his voice rises in anger towards the end of his sentence feels like it only confirms the bad things said of him, and Viren loathes it. He plops down heavily in his chair, raking a hand through his hair, as Aaravos smiles as calmly as ever at him.

"Such tension," the elf purrs. "You spend far too much time alone, plotting and scheming. Surely some companionship and leisure time would calm you down."

"This is of utmost importance," Viren snaps. "I have no time for camaraderie and games."

"No, you do not," Aaravos muses.

One of his hands moves to his face, tracing his lower lip. Viren cannot help but hone in on the motion.

"I simply wonder if your mind would be more clear of frustration if you had some help to . . .  _loosen up."_

His golden eyes flick downward, then back up to Viren's face, seemingly glowing. It takes Viren a moment to process, but when he finally understands the implications he makes a flustered noise, trying hard to mask it with disgust.

"I am a grown man," he snaps, face burning. "I do not need  _that_  to have a clear mind. I am no teenager."

"You are human," Aaravos replies, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. It is not the first time he has made such a suggestion, and each time, without fail, it embarrasses his companion. "Pent up frustration does you no good. What is the harm?"

Viren scoffs, annoyed. "Unless you're first in line, I doubt there's anyone willing to come within ten feet of an old man."

"You are hardly old." Aaravos rolls his eyes. "I far outlast you."

"Is that a yes?" Viren challenges.

Aaravos is far less subtle this time with how he stares below the belt, then back up to Viren's face. His gaze is burning, and something stirs in the mage's stomach. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and matches Aaravos' stare with intensity of his own.

"You live to serve."

Aaravos nods minutely, almost imperceptibly. "Yes," he says. Viren narrows his eyes.

"You will serve me."

Viren tests out the command, and there's an undeniable power to the words, a purpose. Aaravos clearly feels it too. Viren can see the shiver that trails up his spine, the faint tremble of it telling Viren just how much control he has over the elf.

Aaravos nods again. "Yes," he breathes. Viren laces his fingers together, his intrigued gaze transforming into a hard stare.

"Don't make proposals you don't intend to fulfill," the mage says calmly, "or I will find a way to drag you through that mirror myself."

Just like that, the palpable tension turns sour. Aaravos' eyes, which had grown so wide for the elf during those last moments, narrow dramatically. His eyebrows furrow dramatically, and Viren's stomach drops. He has done something incredibly foolish, that much is clear.

**"You will not."**

Aaravos' tone is a booming growl, dangerous and animalistic, and Viren swears his pupils are slits. His voice is different now, something ancient and powerful. Something not to be trifled with, and yet Viren dares to trifle anyway despite the hard pounding of his heart and the sweat on his palms.

"And if I do?"

The look on his face is one of cold fury. Aaravos raises a hand and the fire behind him goes out, leaving Viren with a blank mirror.

**"Leave."**

Viren obeys. He swipes his cane and hurries out the door in a single thud of his heart against his ribs.

 _Lives to serve, does he?_ he muses, grip tightening on his cane. He removes the grub from his ear as a hurried afterthought.  _Who's really in charge, here?_

.

When Viren finally has the guts to return to the mirror again, to Aaravos, it is as if nothing happened. The elf is as pleasant as ever, hands pleasantly clasped at his front as always and smile serene. Viren schools his expression as well in some misguided attempt to hide his intentions, despite knowing it will not work.

He's been thinking for the past few hours, reflecting on the nature of Aaravos' outburst. Reflecting on the mysterious figure himself. The elf is an enigma, truly. Despite his poorly-concealed desire for contact, he vehemently denies any talk of freedom, and violently opposes any mention of methods to allow him the companionship he so clearly craves.

 _Why?_  Viren wonders, and he will not stop until he has the answer. He clasps his fingers together on the handle of his staff, narrowing his eyes at the elf in the mirror.  _I am in control,_ he reminds himself.  _His wish is my command. He said so himself._

"What would you have of me?" Aaravos asks simply. His face is impassive past the smile, calculating. He knows something is up. Viren squares his shoulders and raises his chin, increasing his presence as much as he can before answering.

"What am I to you?" he asks, tone even. Aaravos' eyes narrow ever so slightly.

"My master," he answers, unhesitant despite his suspicion. Aaravos cocks his head, then adds, "If you would have me serve you, that is. Thus far, you have accepted little aid."

"Your master," Viren repeats. Aaravos only nods.

They stare one another down for what feels like forever, eyes burning, challenging. Aaravos knows what is to come - how could he not, if he is as omnipotent as he claims? Viren allows his words to tumble around in his brain for a moment, arranging themselves until he feels he can speak them coolly despite the gaze searing his skin.

"Your duty is to grant me whatever knowledge I desire?" Viren asks, urging confirmation. Aaravos' eyes are nearly slits now.

"It is."

"Then, as your master," Viren says, testing the title out, "I command you to tell me anything you may know that will aid me in freeing you."

He can see the way Aaravos works his jaw, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes. Viren's hands tremble faintly and he is thankful they are hidden from sight. For all the power Aaravos claims Viren has over him, he still fears the elf, and he is likely wise to feel so.

"Why do you wish for such a thing?" Aaravos finally asks, eyes still closed. It is an act of defiance, a refusal to look at him.

"What happens if I order you to stop asking questions?" Viren avoids the question, surprised at the authority in his tone. Aaravos' eyes open at that, and they seem more vivid than Viren remembers.

"Then despite my obedience, you will have made no friend of me."

It seems Aaravos has no problem answering questions irrelevant to his imprisonment. Viren finds himself annoyed, sighing rather dramatically. Perhaps he should return the favor and answer the elf's question, as well - maybe it will ease whatever problem he has with Viren's initial demand.

It would help if Viren knew himself why he is so fixated. Defiance? Is that it? The more avoidant Aaravos continues to be, the more Viren wants to know more. The more of a scene they make, the more determined Viren is to solve the mystery.

He can hardly tell Aaravos that, however, so he scrambles for other explanations, ones that make far more sense. "As you've probably observed," he says, gesturing to his ear, "I rather loathe this little  _thing_ we have to communicate through."

"Is that all?" Aaravos quirks a disbelieving brow, and Viren makes a play of irritation, rolling his eyes.

"I'm being facetious. Surely you know all about that."

"Then why else?"

Aaravos is not kidding around, and Viren's confidence tries to deflate. He determinedly refuses to let it. Instead, he grasps at straws; they have not come to mind until now, but the things he says are not exactly untrue. They simply are not at the top of his list.

Wildly hoping it will mean something, Viren tells him, "I do not trust this arrangement. Nothing comes for free. Not even information."

As it turns out, it does mean something. The wrong thing.

"Is that so?"

Viren has never seen such animosity radiating from those golden orbs. He still stands his ground. He will not allow Aaravos to continue to scare him into submission.  _I am in control,_ he reminds himself with a deep breath, steeling himself against the elf's fury.

It almost isn't enough. Aaravos' vibrant eyes glow brighter, and a white light shimmers around his hands.

"For millennia," he rumbles, and Viren's heart jumps at how close his voice is to his outburst before, "I have remained trapped in this place. For millennia I have spoken to no one but my captors. I have not felt the presence or touch of another for millennia.

"I was a fool to hope. Of course you would not see me freed for nothing." Aaravos tilts his head upward, smiling sardonically at the ceiling, and his hand covers half his face. "Even after all this time, I must pay my way out of servitude."

He looks back down to Viren. and the mage is shocked to see his pupils are now slits. His hands grow ever brighter, the light spreading up his arms and radiating from his eyes. The image in the mirror appears to distort, and Viren can't tell if he's imagining it.

"I refuse to find my freedom through further slavery, especially to a foolish human that  **does not know his place."**

There it is. Viren's knuckles go white from how tightly he grips his cane, but he refuses to be swayed. Being paralyzed with fear certainly helps him.

 **"You _will_ drop this,"** he commands, voice reverberating through the damp cell. Distantly, Viren fears someone else may hear.  **"You will forget all about this foolish idea. I will not be led about on a leash of empty promises."**

"No," Viren hears himself say. He shakes his head for pointless emphasis, a challenge issued in his surprisingly strong tone. "You say I am your master, so grant me the knowledge I seek!"

The response he gets is more explosive and temperamental than he could ever have expected; the books on the shelves around Aaravos' room explode off the shelves with a burst of white light. Aaravos looks absolutely livid, teeth bared and eyes glowing a pure white now.

_**"Stop toying with me, mortal!"** _

"I'm not toying with you!" Viren finds indignance where he expects fear, and he steps closer to the mirror instead of away from it. "Why, out of all the knowledge in the world, do you insist on denying me this?!"

 **"Because you do not deserve it,"** Aaravos hisses.

And just like that, before Viren's eyes, he vanishes.

.

Many days pass. Viren only leaves the room to relieve himself and for the rare meal. During that time, he goes through many phases.

First, he is determinedly angry. He impatiently awaits the return of Aaravos, prepared to scold him for his outburst like a child. How dare he refuse his request? Is he a servant to Viren or not? How can he have the nerve to declare his loyalty, but seconds later deny his wish and abandon him?

By the third day, after much swinging between anger and frustration, the guilt hits, and it hits hard. What has he done? He had an encyclopedia on steroids in the palm of his hands, metaphorically speaking, and he chased it away for what? He does not even know.

Furthermore, what could possibly dig so deep that a creature several millennia old - possibly older - would have such a violent response? How could Viren have such little tact, such lacking concern, that he would actively agitate it?

Why is he so invested?

By the fifth day, he starts to lose track of time passed. Even Opeli tracks him down on the rare occasion he ventures out, showing surprising concern for his disappearances. He cares little. By the seventh day, he is sure Aaravos is gone for good.

That is when, by some miracle, the room reappears in the mirror, and with it, a very uncertain-looking elf.

Viren hardly processes the image before him. He blinks blearily several times, squints, and when it finally processes, leaps to his feet, then swears loudly as pain erupts in his left knee. Still, he grasps at the frame of the mirror, wide eyes roaming over the elf's body.

 _What am I looking for?_ He does not know the answer.

"Aaravos," he says finally, and it's a croak, a pathetic mockery of his voice from a week of disuse. He clears his throat to try again, but the elf speaks, and he forgets all about it.

"There is . . . a way," Aaravos says. He is not looking at Viren. He has a book in his hands, and the mage wonders how he found it among the mess still remaining in the room behind him. "If you are truly interested."

Viren imagines he looks like a fool, the way he squints at Aaravos with his mouth slightly agape. He takes in the hunch of his shoulders, the hood pulled over his head, the way his hair messily spills out, his reluctance to meet Viren's gaze. His thumbs trace over the weathered surface of the book's cover.

"What?" Viren asks dumbly. It's only been a week, but he's been so lost in his thoughts it's been more like a month. Aaravos finally looks at him and tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together to mirror his confusion. Finally, it clicks. "Oh! I mean - are you sure?"

He feels like an idiot, but somehow, for some reason, the tension in Aaravos' shoulders seems to dissipate a tiny bit. His lips curl upward at the corners, and he glances down to his book. "When was the last time you had rest?"

"I've slept," Viren snaps defensively. Nevermind that it had been in a hard chair in a cold dungeon. Aaravos shakes his head.

"I should be asking if you are sure." He thumbs the cover again, and Viren can only guess what has him so restless. "Before we continue with this, you must know what it is, exactly, that you ask of me." Viren doesn't respond, doesn't really know how, so Aaravos takes the cue to continue. "There is a ritual. It requires quite a bit from both of us, and I am unsure of the toll it will take on you."

"You say that like it'll sway my opinion."

They are both surprised by Viren's comment, but he stands by it. Aaravos offers a faint chuckle and it feels like a huge accomplishment.

"There's more."

Aaravos hesitates. Viren finds he very much does not want him to stop speaking, so he urges him on.

"Are you going to make me wait all day?"

The elf shakes his head, but he still takes a moment to continue.

"You would not merely be freeing me from this place. I do not know of any halfway measures. I would be completely free in both mind and body. Neither you nor anyone else would have control over my will. I could go wherever I want, do whatever I want, say whatever I want. I could lie about anything I want.

"With all of that in mind, do you still wish to proceed?"

Viren does not know what Aaravos expects. Contemplative silence? For him to take time to think over the decision? None of what was said changes his mind.

"What do I need to do?" he asks.

It is so quiet he barely hears it. A soft sigh, an exhale of relief, perhaps. Aaravos turns the book in his hands so that Viren can see the cover.

"First," Aaravos says, quiet and still so hesitant, "locate this book. I know it exists in Katolis, though I do not know where. It holds instructions to the ritual. Find it and bring it here, and we shall see about the rest."

.

Light and shadow dance over the dark brick walls. The culprit, a flickering orange flame, sat on the arm of Viren's chair, which is now shoved into the corner of the room. The room on Aaravos' side of the mirror is dark, as well, but he can still see the elf on the other side. The stars on his skin seem to light him from within.

It is an entrancing sight, but Viren had other things to focus on. His legs tremble as he dips his fingers into the bowl of blood in his hand and traces symbols onto the mirror. He is nervous, yes, but that is hardly the reason he is so shaky - the sheer amount of writing he has to do requires more blood than he anticipated.

He recognizes the words he is writing, but not the symbols. Aaravos was not entirely helpful on that front, which made sense, of course, as it would be unwise to allow an entity to know the spell that bound them. Apparently, there were passages in the book Aaravos could not see, prevented by some magic he did not understand, and Viren had to guide them both through the steps.

He does not regret it for a second, even as he feels lightheaded while finishing the final glyph. He sets the bowl on the floor beside him and watches as Aaravos does the same. He looks considerably less affected by the blood loss, though he glances between Viren's face and bandaged hand with something that almost looks like concern.

Viren supposes there is supposed to be some kind of dramatic silence, but as he looks into Aaravos' waiting eyes, he finds himself too antsy to care. He plucks the bug from his ear and watches at it crawls over his fingers, then glances back up to the elf.

He mouths a question.  _Are you sure?_

Aaravos almost seems pained when he nods.  _Yes._

Viren settles the bug in his palm and, with a silent apology, crushes it between his fingers. He can feel the magic of it course through his veins, so much more than he expected. With a deep breath, he places his hands on the frame of the mirror, and watches as Aaravos copies the motion.

 _"_ _Per sanguinem vos erant capti, et cum sanguis meus tibi erit libero."_ The words spill from his lips in a voice not quite his own, and his vision goes dark, his eyes undoubtedly black. The blood on the mirror begins to glow, red breaking through the black filter and burning into his vision.  _"_ _Veni, Aaravos. Contractus est scinderetur._ _"_

A loud cracking sound follows his words. On the other side of the mirror he can see Aaravos backing away, but Viren is rooted to the spot, watching as the mirror fractures along the lines of blood, then spiderwebs out until it reaches the frame. Almost a second too late he realizes what is about to happen and scurries backward as the glass shatters.

He does not remember squeezing his eyes shut, but now he fears opening them, fears what he will see. What if Aaravos tricked him? What if, past the frame, he sees nothing but the dark stone of the cell?

Viren forces his eyes open and cannot suppress a sigh of relief. Nothing looks different, at first, until he sees the fragments of the mirror scattered on the floor on either side of the frame. On the other side is Aaravos, staring at him with an expression he can only imagine mirrors Viren's own.

Aaravos reaches forward. His eyes are huge, mouth slightly ajar, nothing like the charming facade Viren usually sees. His hand stops where the glass barrier used to be. There is so much uncertainty in his eyes - Viren has never seen anything like it. So, of course, he does the most sensible thing he can think of at the moment: he leans forward and touches their hands together.

Aaravos lets out a shuddering breath. It's so incredibly strange to hear it from in front of him rather than whispered into Viren's ear. The elf closes his hand into a fist, lacing their fingers together. Viren's breath hitches in surprise, but slowly, gently, he copies the motion.

For a long time, Aaravos does not move. His eyes close and his grip on Viren's hand tightens and and loosens a few times. Once or twice Viren is sure he sees his lower lip tremble, but he chooses not to comment on it.

A bit restless, Viren clears his throat, and Aaravos' eyes slowly open. He glances from Viren to the hard stone beneath the mage's feet, and when he hesitates for too long, Viren takes the initiative, tugging him forward gently. Aaravos steps over the frame and into the dungeon, boots crunching on the broken glass, and then he's in front of Viren in all his tall, starry glory.

"Well . . . "

Viren starts to speak but falters, unsure of what to say. What does one say when welcoming an ancient elf into your dungeon?

"Welcome to my dungeon."

Brilliant.

Aaravos hardly acknowledges the fact that Viren has even spoken. A noise of surprise escapes Viren's throat when a four-fingered hand grasps a fistful of his shirt. He realizes their hands are still connected, but he hardly has time to think about it because a second later Aaravos is pulling him forward and their lips are meeting in a heated kiss.

It's been so long since Viren did this kind of thing that he has no idea where to put his free hand, or even how to respond. He settles on Aaravos' bicep. Aaravos' lips are soft and his skin cool, and his lashes are so thick and pretty up close, and Viren is definitely not supposed to have his eyes open so he quickly slams them shut.

Aaravos pulls back a second later, eyes shooting wide open. Viren is late to open his by another second, eyebrows furrowed in a question.

"I'm sorry," the elf whispers. "That was uncalled for."

Call it the shock, the blood loss, the spell, Viren doesn't care. He answers by moving his free hand to the back of Aaravos' head and pulling him into another kiss. There's less desperation and more craving in this one, and as Viren's hand tightens in silky white locks Aaravos walks him backward until they hit the wall.

Aaravos breaks the kiss again, burying his face in Viren's neck and inhaling deeply. Viren doesn't know what's come over him, but his heart is pounding in a way that isn't fear this time, and the dizziness is accompanied by heat in his cheeks. He's a little delirious but very much enthusiastic, made clear by the rather embarrassing noise he makes when Aaravos trails his tongue up his neck from collar to jaw.

Aaravos gives one final squeeze to his hand before relocating both to Viren's hips. His skin may be cool, but his breath is almost unbearably hot against Viren's ear when he whispers, "Is this alright?"

It's so much different coming from the source. Viren shivers and clutches at Aaravos' chest. His legs are complete jelly and he won't admit it, but his knee is beginning to ache from standing so long without support. Still, he breathes back,  _"Yes."_

His crutch is taken from him as Aaravos gives a small nip to his throat before sliding to his knees. He rests his head on Viren's stomach, then inches lower to nose none too subtly at his crotch, and Viren nearly chokes on air in surprise.

"You, uh - " His voice is already raspy, and it's excruciatingly embarrassing. "You don't have to do that."

"I recall telling you I wanted to," Aaravos replies, his fingers tugging inquisitively at Viren's belt and his golden eyes peering up through his lashes. When Viren doesn't tell him no, he goes to work undoing both belt and button.

"And  _I_  recall you not giving me a real answer," Viren grumbles back, his own hands settling into that pretty hair. "Plus, you're free now." He gives an experimental tug, and Aaravos sighs softly below him.

"Well, consider this my consent."

Viren's length is free a second later, and in the same moment, Aaravos easily takes him in his mouth and reaches all the way to the base in one go.

Viren instantly tightens his fingers in Aaravos' hair, a weak groan leaving him before he can control himself. The elf takes a second to swallow around the cock in his throat, and Viren is seeing stars. Aaravos pulls back slowly, tonguing pointedly under the head, hands on Viren's hips preventing him from bucking like he so badly wants to.

Aaravos gives a few slow, sloppy licks to the head, making eye contact up at Viren, who just groans and lets his head fall back against the wall. As Aaravos takes him in his mouth again, he gently coaxes Viren's hands from his hair and redirects them to his horns. Viren clings for dear life as Aaravos sets a slow, steady pace, eyes sliding shut.

Viren is hesitant at first, afraid of hurting the elf, but he isn't held down anymore and after a few helpless bucks of his hips he finds himself using Aaravos' horns as leverage. Aaravos does not mind one bit, humming eagerly as Viren fucks his face, hands caressing his thighs encouragingly.

"Shit," is all the warning Viren can manage when the heat and tension builds. Aaravos opens his eyes for only a moment, a brief acknowledgement of his warning, then resumes sucking. Viren's thrusts grow increasingly erratic until he tenses up with a low groan, Aaravos' lips wrapped around the base of his cock, and comes hot and thick down the elf's throat.

Aaravos swallows it down like it's nothing and keeps sucking until Viren comes down from his high, panting hard. He forces himself to let go of Aaravos' horns to push him away, oversensitive, and takes a second to breathe before stuffing his member back into his trousers. He hobbles on shaky legs to the chair a few paces away and collapses into it, running a hand through his hair.

"I . . . that was, well - "

"You don't have to comment on everything, you know," Aaravos interrupts gently, amused. He stays on his knees, but scoots over to where Viren sits, resting his head on his good knee.

It's really quite cute, not that Viren would ever admit so aloud.

"What now?" he asks. Aaravos settles a hand on Viren's bad knee and massages idly, and it feels heavenly. "You're free. What comes next for the great Aaravos?"

Aaravos tilts his head as though thinking, but the glint in his eyes spoils that he already has his answer. "You still require my aid."

Viren scoffs. "All that effort to get you out of that mirror, and what? You're just going to help me anyway?"

"I believe it is a worthy use of my time," Aaravos replies evenly. He makes a pointed look below the belt, then back at Viren's face once more. "The perks are also satisfactory."

Viren tries very, very hard not to grow red. He is not sure how successful he is. "So what first? As my new advisor, I'm sure you have plans - "

His last few words are overtaken by a yawn, and he's stricken with embarrassment. Viren is no spring chicken, of course, so the tiredness is expected, but he still cannot help the shame that comes with it.

Aaravos does not mock him, however. He finally stands and, in one swift movement, wedges his hands under Viren's back and legs and sweeps him off his feet.

"To bed, I think," he suggests, and as though to preserve Viren's pride, he adds, "All of this has me rather overwhelmed, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Viren doesn't have the energy to argue. He closes his eyes, trusting Aaravos not to get himself caught on the way through the castle, and drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> "Per sanguinem vos erant capti, et cum sanguis meus tibi erit libero. Veni, Aaravos. Contractus est scinderetur." = "By blood you were trapped, and with my blood you will be free. Come, Aaravos. Your contract is severed."
> 
> or at least, that's the intended translation; all the latin translations i found were very limited


End file.
